


PROS AND CONS OF ENGAGING IN A COVERT OPERATION WITH ONE'S BEST FRIEND WHICH REQUIRES YOU TO PRETEND YOU ARE A COUPLE: A List by Cameron Morgan

by magistera



Category: Gallagher Girls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magistera/pseuds/magistera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bex and Cammie are using a legend that means they must pretend to be a couple. But is Bex really pretending?</p>
            </blockquote>





	PROS AND CONS OF ENGAGING IN A COVERT OPERATION WITH ONE'S BEST FRIEND WHICH REQUIRES YOU TO PRETEND YOU ARE A COUPLE: A List by Cameron Morgan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wintercreek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/gifts).



**PRO: Staying in the same _incredibly swanky_ hotel room gives you plenty of time for girl talk.**

Shopping bags in one hand, I slid the keycard into the hotel room door with the other. The light turned green and the lock beeped. I opened the door and just stood for a second, slack-jawed.

“What's the hold up?” Bex asked from behind me. When I didn't say anything, she gave me a none-too-gentle shove in the direction of the door. “Come on, Cam, we've got making up to do.”

I stepped into the room, still in shock. I suppose I should have guessed from the marble-clad, chandelier-strewn lobby, but this was still the nicest room I had ever seen, much less been in. The art on the walls was impeccable – easily the equal of anything in the Gallagher Academy's mansion (and we have several Old Masters that have been believed lost for centuries). The heavy curtains were velvet, backed by lighter ones of lace so delicate I was afraid to open them for fear of tearing it. The carpet was plush and welcoming under my feet. And the bed -

The bed was a massive four-poster. With still more curtains. And a wrought-iron headboard. And piles of duvets and pillows that screamed “silk sheets underneath!”

I couldn't stop staring around myself in shock. Bex, however, just glanced around the room, said “Huh. Nice,” and walked over to the chaise lounge to deposit her shopping bags. She rummaged in one and came up with a sheaf of Evapopaper, covered closely in Liz's perfect handwriting.

Another bag produced the bug-sweeper Macey had worked on as an extra-credit project for R&D. Dr. Fibbs had been so impressed with it that he had passed her up to the juniors' classes this year. It was disguised to look like a perfume atomizer.

Pumping the bulb to switch the sweeper on, Bex began waving it around the room. After a minute, she nodded, satisfied, and came over to where I was still standing, dumbfounded. She slipped an arm around my waist, and leaned in close to mutter in my ear.

“No bugs that I can find,” she muttered, “but we'd better still act as if they were there.”

I nodded, and belatedly turned towards her, pulling her into a hug. Our legend called for us to be a couple on their honeymoon – hence the fancy hotel room – and I kept forgetting to act like it. Bex seemed to have no such problem.

One of her hands slid into my back jeans pocket, pulling me closer, and I felt her fold the Evapopaper into it. “Intel on our target. Study up,” she said, her breath sliding over my ear. I shivered in spite of myself. Bex must have seen it, because she laughed under her breath.

Stepping back slightly, she kissed me on the cheek and grinned. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said out loud. “I'm going to take a bath.”

A minute later, her voice floated out of the bathroom, echoing off the marble on the walls and floor. “Why is there a _phone_ in here?”

#

**CON: Two girls, one bathroom isn't something you've had to deal with since you left school in a somewhat unilateral fashion.**

“Okay, okay, I don't mean you should _seduce_ him,” Bex said from the massive, claw-footed tub, where she was shaving her legs. The water was running on full blast, to confuse any bugs. Although hardly anyone thinks to bug a bathroom, which is good, because _ew_. “I'm just saying that we need to find out what he knows,” Bex continued.

“What do you want me to do, then?” I asked, swinging my legs from where I perched on the side of the sink. I leaned in closer to the mirror, swiping at the steam-induced fog to clear a spot to check my eyeliner for the seventeenth time. It was still perfect, but I kept fighting the urge to swipe at my eyes nervously until I looked like a raccoon.

“Just...get close to him. Find out what he knows.”

Our target was a mid-ranking diplomat currently posted to Burundi. Or at least, that was his cover. We had good reason to believe (read: Liz had hacked into his records and discovered) that he was a graduate of the Blackthorne Institute. And a member of the Circle of Cavan who was reportedly looking to get out.

This was the closest we'd managed to get to a member of the Circle in almost six months. Ever since Bex had tracked me down in the seedy rent-by-the-week motel in Atlantic City where I'd set up my base of operations (the best I could afford with my meager life's savings, even with my Christmas and birthday money from my grandparents thrown in), we'd had no breaks to speak of.

It didn't help that since Liz was still at school, our access to secure communications with her, and thus, classified databases, was _severely_ curtailed. She'd finally managed to wrangle, via a blind drop, a few precious pieces of intel: the Burundi attache's name, his connection to the Circle (and his dissatisfaction), and two invitations to a high-flying cocktail party in Manhattan for this evening.

Hence all the leg-shaving and eye-lining. Bex and Macey, working together, had somehow produced untraceable credit cards under my current cover (and how they had known what name I would be using, Bex refused to tell), and we'd tested their limits booking this room and buying a pair of cocktail dresses that I was _still_ feeling highly uncertain about.

“You're saying I need to go fishing.” Flirty-fishing was a term originally used by cults on the lookout for new members; Bex and I had taken it up as a useful piece of slang.

“I'm not saying go full Mata Hari,” Bex said. “For one thing, this guy's likely to be on the lookout for anything like that. Just dance with him, drop a few hints, and let him draw his own conclusions. If we can set up a meet, great. If not, that tells us something as well.”

“But what if he wants to, I don't know, slip away from the party?” That could be dangerous on more than one level. On the one hand, we were _pretty_ sure that he wanted out of the Circle – but if we were wrong, I was still their prime target. On the other hand, it could leave me alone with a boy – no, not a boy, a _man_ – who might think I was promising more than I was.

“Then I'll come up and play the jealous girlfriend, okay? It'll be _fine_.” Bex paused for a minute. When she spoke again, her voice was deliberately casual. “Have you heard anything from Zach lately?”

I sighed. “You know I haven't.” I hadn't heard from him since the day I refused to run away with him, in fact. I knew he was out there somewhere, doing whatever he could to thwart the Circle. What I didn't know was where. Or with who. Or if he was thinking of me. I shrugged my shoulders uncomfortably. “I have to go get dressed,” I muttered, and slipped off the sink.

“Cam - “ Bex started from behind me, but I let the door close on whatever she was about to say.

Shimmying into the red dress we'd bought for me took longer than I'd expected. The fabric was cut to hug every curve (that I had, anyway, which wasn't many), and it took a certain amount of wriggling and adjusting to get it to hang right. I felt a breeze from the air conditioner insinuate its way into the nearly hip-high slit on the side and shivered. Bex had had to argue with me for nearly ten minutes to get me to try it on, much less buy it. And considering what it cost – let's just say I was hoping that the credit cards weren't being paid for out of Macey's allowance, as generous as it was.

Stepping into the teetering red heels that matched the dress felt like putting on a uniform. Just like that, I grew four inches and became someone else – someone who wore red dresses slit to the hip and attended cocktail parties with ambassadors and minor nobility. I raised one hand to pat my hair to make sure it was still in place, and then ran it down over my side, smoothing the fabric of the dress.

“Wow,” Bex said from behind me, making me jump. “You look _hot_.”

I turned around. She was wearing one of the cushy bathrobes the hotel had provided, her hair straggling around her face a bit from the steam in the bathroom. She came over to where I stood, sliding her hand behind my neck and tugging my face down to hers.

“Bugs,” she breathed, before her lips brushed against mine. I breathed in deeply through my nose to keep from stiffening – I didn't know how I was ever going to get used to this cover. I told myself that the miniature bolt of lightning that shot down my spine when our lips touched was nothing but nerves, and bent my head to press our mouths more tightly together.

Bex pulled back, and I caught a glimpse of her face, lips parted slightly with surprise, before she buried her face in my neck – where, conveniently, she could whisper in my ear. “You'll be _fine_ ,” she said again.

I turned my head so that it looked like I was kissing her ear. “Of course I will be,” I whispered. “I've got the best backup.”

Bex stepped back, giggling as if I had said something scandalous. “Oh no,” she said out loud. “You'll have to save that for later.”

I pretended to pout. Bex turned to the chair her own dress was draped over. It was long and gold and shimmery. She let the robe slip to the floor, and I started to turn away before I remembered that she was supposed to be my girlfriend; and besides, it wasn't anything I hadn't seen before. I watched the muscles in her back flex as she bent and picked up the dress by the hem, lifting it over her head to drift down over her body like a shimmery net. When it had settled, she stepped forward into the matching shoes, and then twirled slowly until she was facing me.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

I held up my silver clutch in one hand (carefully pre-populated with the appropriate litter) and my invitation in the other. “Ready,” I said.  
“Good thing,” Bex said, “because it's showtime.”

#

**PRO: You have the perfect excuse to sneak away from the cocktail party together.**

It wasn't hard to find the attache once we arrived at the party; Liz had included pictures. (She had developed the photographic Evapopaper herself; it tasted even worse than the regular stuff.) What wasn't easy, however, was getting him away from the group of people he'd arrived with. Our intelligence said that he wasn't seeing anyone, male or female; but he'd clearly shown up with a group of friends and showed little inclination to mingle.

“Ooh, I love chocolate-covered strawberries,” I said, sidling up to him at the buffet.

He glanced over at me. “I'm sorry; am I in your way?” he asked, and walked away.

“Smooth, Chameleon,” Bex said in my ear.

I glanced across the room to where she was pretending to admire a painting on the wall. “This isn't my usual department,” I muttered. “Cut me some slack.”

A few minutes later, I tried something a little less subtle. “Excuse me,” I said, buttonholing him next to the punch bowl. “But aren't you John Mossman? Julie has told me so much about you.”

He turned, a confused look in his eyes. “I'm sorry, Ms - “

“St. James,” I said. “Tiffany St. James.”

“Ms. St. James. I'm John, but I don't believe I know a Julie.”

I put on a perplexed look. “I could have _sworn_ it was her,” I said. “I wonder who it was, then?” With a little gasp, as though I'd just thought of it, I said “I know!” and reached into my clutch, pulling out a phone. “I'll just look her up on Facebook!”

Sure enough (because I'd set it up that way), “Tiffany St. James” and John Mossman had several friends in common on Facebook. That was enough to start us talking, and thanks to a couple of handy anecdotes that Liz had provided (“Do you remember when Monica decided she was going to quit her job and become a dog-walker? We're lucky Sarah was able to talk her out of it!”) he was quickly convinced that I was part of his social circle.

“I just can't believe that I never met you before,” he said for what must have been the third time.

I waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, I think we might have met at a party or something,” I said.

“No, I'm sure I'd remember,” he said.

“We must have met at some point,” I said. “We clearly move in the same _circles_.”

I watched him stiffen, then relax. The song playing changed to a popular dance song, and I clapped my hands. “I love this song!” I said. “Want to dance?”  
It was quickly apparently that John's interest in Tiffany was more than the merely polite. As soon as we were out on the dance floor, he moved in, putting his hands on my waist and drawing me close to him. I tried to tune out my sudden panic and just concentrate on dancing.

He put his mouth to my ear. “So, Tiffany, what do you do?”

I'm a spy. An underage spy. “I'm a paralegal,” I said, with a little laugh.

“Really.” I couldn't decipher his tone. “What's that like?”

“Oh, it's boring, really,” I said. “I spend all day looking things up for lawyers and taking dictation.”

“Are you interested in the law?” His hand was wandering down my spine, towards my – I gasped, and spun away from him, forcing a giggle as he gave me an exaggerated look of disappointment.

He grabbed my hand, pulling me back toward him. “Don't go too far _afield_ ,” he chided me, and it was my turn to stiffen. “You never know who might be watching.”

“Okay, that was too weird,” Bex said. “Time to abort.”

I smiled blindingly at him. “Excuse me for a minute,” I said. “I need to go – powder my nose.”

He held on to my hand a little tighter. “Perhaps when you return, we could go somewhere a little more private,” he said.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I spun around. It was Bex. “We need to talk, _sweetheart_ ,” she said.

#

**CON: Sneaking away from the cocktail party means that the two of you are alone.**

It must have rained while we were inside; the garden was nearly as glittery in the moonlight as the party had been. Bex slipped her hand into mine as we walked, pretending to admire the prize roses, bending to sniff at a gardenia or get a closer look at a tiny orchid.

“What do you think?” Bex asked, leaning over to mutter directly in my ear.

I sighed, pulling her to a stop next to me and sliding my arms around her waist. I pretended to nuzzle at her neck. “I'm not sure,” I said. “He definitely stiffened when I mentioned circles. I think he might have made me.”

“Do we need to abort?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I need to get a tracker on him at least.”

“And you didn't do that while you were _dancing up close to him_?” Bex said incredulously.

I felt my cheeks redden. “I forgot,” I said, feeling stupid.

Bex _tsked_ in my ear. “Too busy staring at his shoulders?”

“I wasn't – that's not even _possible_ when you're dancing with someone,” I protested.

“I saw you looking at him from across the room.”

“I had eyeball!” I stepped back to look her in the face. I had just realized where I had heard that tone before, and it hadn't been from Bex. It had been from Zach, when he talked about Josh. “Are you _jealous_?”

Bex looked as if she was about to retort, but then she stopped and grinned at me. “That's the plan, isn't it?” she breathed.

I felt my cheeks heat up all over again. Of course. It was all part of the legend. I felt like an idiot. It was the worst kind of neophyte mistake – to forget your cover and assume you could trust anything you heard – even from your own partner.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind us. Quick as a flash, Bex stepped into my arms again, tilting her head down to mine. Our lips met, and I felt her smile devilishly before her lips parted, and then we were _really_ kissing. I sucked in a breath through my nose and did my best to play along. We'd never covered this in C &A, although there were rumors of a _very_ private class for seniors that dealt with Sex and the Modern Spy.

Bex's body was warm and soft against mine, but underlaid with the hard muscle of years of tough training. I could feel her breath quicken as I let my mouth fall open against hers. Her lips moved slowly but surely over mine, and her hands were roaming up and down my back. I leaned into the kiss and tried to follow suit. Then I felt Bex's tongue brush lightly over my lips, and I gasped, my arms tightening around her spasmodically as lightning ran down my spine. Bex chuckled under her breath, and did it again, the tip of her tongue just dipping into the corner of my mouth, as if she was testing me.

My mind was racing. This hadn't been in the action plan, and neither had the cocktail of feelings that were churning through my body right then. Fear, surprise and a flicker of something else warred in my head; but that flicker was threatening to grow to take over the others. Hardly daring to breathe, I let my tongue slide out to taste Bex's lips. They were as warm and soft as the rest of her, and they tasted of the cherry lip gloss I had watched her put on at the beginning of the evening.

Bex made a low sound in her throat, and then she was pressing up against me closer than ever, her mouth moving urgently over mine. Her breath was coming faster, and I realized with a start that mine was too.

Someone laughed behind us, and we jerked apart. I stared at Bex, my eyes wide, and watched her try to compose herself. Her chest was heaving, and her eyes were as wide as mine, but even while I watched, she got herself under control. I drew a deep breath and tried to do the same, turning to see who had followed us.

It was the Burundi attache. He smiled, spreading his hands widely. “I had hoped to see if you wanted to take a walk with me in the garden,” he said to me. “But it seems you have other...targets in mind.”

Bex and I glanced at each other. Had he emphasized “targets” deliberately? I found my voice. “I hope I didn't give you the wrong impression,” I said. “I did tell you that I was here with someone.”

His eyes never left mine. “I think you know that romance was not my intent, Ms. Morgan,” he said.

I didn't jump, and silently thanked Gillian's ghost for all my years of training. “I'm sorry,” I said. “You must have me confused with someone else. My name is Tiffany St. James.” I could feel Bex tensing next to me, ready to attack. I reached out blindly and took her hand. She squeezed it twice: _do you want me to take him_? I squeezed back, gently: _not yet_.

He laughed again. “I think we are beyond these childish games,” he said. “I know what you're looking for. I can help you find it.”

I made an executive decision. Bex would be mad at me later, but this was my hunt, after all. “Can you set up a meeting? I'm willing to be bait.” Bex's hand clutched at mine; I squeezed back, and then let go.

He eyed me speculatively. “I can, yes – but are you sure you know what you're playing at? This isn't a game for schoolgirls, Ms. Morgan.”

I met his eyes squarely. “I haven't been just a schoolgirl since the convention. And you and I both know that the Circle isn't going to back down.”

He sighed. “All right, then. Do you have a secure drop? I'll need a few days to set it up.”

I thought fast. “Times Square,” I said. “Thursday, 2PM. I'll be wearing an 'I heart NYC' sweatshirt.” So would about half a gazillion tourists, but if he was good enough to make me once, he'd be able to do it again. And in case I had misjudged, there would be half a gazillion witnesses.

“Fine,” he said, and bowed. “And now I will leave you ladies to your...walk.” He smirked at us, and I felt myself starting to blush for what had to be the thousandth time that day. Then he turned on his heel and was gone, crunching off back to the party.

I took a deep breath, and turned to Bex. The shell-shocked look was gone from her face; instead, she wore a look of fury. “And at what point _exactly_ , did you think we were going to discuss this idea of yours?”

“Bex,” I started, putting one hand on her arm and marshaling my arguments.

She shook off my hand. “ _Don't touch me_ ,” she said in a low, vicious tone.

I stepped back. “Now hang on,” I said. “This is _my_ operation.”

“Oh, is it?” Bex said icily. “Then maybe you'd prefer to run it alone.” She pushed past me, heading in the direction that the attache had gone.

“No – Bex, _wait_ ,” I said, following her. I caught up to her and grabbed her arm. She shook me off again, but at least she stopped. “I can't do this without you,” I pleaded. “I need backup for the meet, at least.”

Bex just stared at me for a long minute. Then she said something absolutely _filthy_ in Russian. “Fine,” she said. “But when you get yourself kidnapped again, I swear to God that I will rescue you just so I can kill you myself.”

“Deal,” I said. “We should get back to the hotel so that we can plan.”

Bex shook her head. “You go back,” she said. “I need to take a walk or something. I'll meet you there.”

I started to protest that we shouldn't allow ourselves to be separated, but she gave me such a furious look that I subsided immediately.

“Just so you know, I'm still angry at you,” Bex said. “Just – let me walk it off a bit, okay?” She didn't wait for an answer before she turned and left. I watched her go, her hips swaying back and forth in her long, gold dress, until she was out of sight.

#

**???: Sometimes, you're not sure that your best friend is pretending.**

When I got back to the hotel room, I took off the red dress, put on a bathrobe, and curled up in the window seat, staring out over the city lights. Far below, I could see a stream of red and white lights that were cars speeding down the road.

I thought about my mother, and how frantic with worry she must be over me. I felt a pang of guilt, but I brushed it away. She was safer without me around. Everyone was.

Everyone except Bex, that is. Bex, who knew me well enough to track me down even when I wasn't quite sure myself where I was going. Bex, who refused to leave me to face the Circle alone even though it meant putting herself in very-probably-mortal danger.

Bex, who had kissed me like her life depended on it, and then turned around and looked at me like I was her worst enemy. My mind kept spiraling around to that kiss, and then shying away. I felt a stab of something hot and frightening low in my gut every time I remembered the feeling of Bex's lips on my mouth, her tongue sliding against mine as her hands moved over my body.

It hadn't felt like a cover. It had felt like a homecoming.

I shook my head as though I could shake the memories out of it. _Get ahold of yourself, Morgan_ , I thought. _She was just sticking to the legend >_.

The door opened behind me, and I jumped, but I didn't turn around. “Hi, Bex,” I said.

“Getting soft,” Bex replied. “I could be anyone, you know.”

I turned my head to look at her. She was still in that floaty gold dress, although she was carrying her heels in one hand. Her hair was starting to frizz a little bit – I remembered that it had rained not long after I got back to the hotel room. As usual, however, she looked unfazed and gorgeous, and suddenly I found it hard to look at her. I looked out the window again.

“I want you to know, I no longer think this is the worst idea you ever had,” Bex said, coming up behind me. She slid into the window seat behind me, curling around me and tucking her head over my shoulder.

I swallowed, and tried to look at her out of the corner of my eye. She seemed to be looking out the window, too. “Oh?” I said, and cringed inwardly at the way my voice came out higher-pitched than usual.

“No,” Bex said. “I think the time in seventh grade when you decided that we could totally sneak over the Canadian border to go to a Soul Decision concert was the worst idea you ever had. But this is a close second.”

“I was _twelve_ ,” I protested, turning to face her.

She just grinned at me. “And we will never let you live it down, Chameleon,” she said. She was quiet for a moment. “Look, I think this is a bad idea. And I think it's going to end badly. But you're right – it's your operation. And if this is the way you want to run it, I'll back your play.” Her voice hardened. “But if it does go sideways, I get to say 'I told you so'.”

Inexplicably, I felt myself begin to tear up. I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “Thanks, Bex,” I said. “Really. It means a lot to me.”

“Gallagher girls against the world, right?” Bex smiled, but it seemed sad, somehow.

I reached out and took her hand, lacing our fingers together. “No,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze. Her head came up, a surprised look on her face. I grinned at her. “You and me against the world,” I said.

Bex's eyes widened slightly. She reached out with one finger under my chin, tipping my head towards hers. She looked me in the eye for a long while, and then, smiling, leaned in and pressed her lips to mine. I held perfectly still, not breathing, waiting to see if she was going to kiss me the way she had in the garden, but she just held the kiss for a second, then pulled back. She held my gaze for a while, and then she sighed and snuggled down, wrapping one arm around my waist and leaning her head against my shoulder.

I let my head tilt down to lean against hers, and we didn't say anything for a long time. Bex's breath evened out, became slow and regular, and I started to wonder if she'd fallen asleep.

“Bex?” I said softly.

She made a discontented sound and snuggled closer. I tightened my arm around her and turned my head to press my face into her hair.

Bex said something under her breath.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing,” Bex said. She sat up, pulling away, but stayed beside me, staring out the window at the lights below. “You and me against the world, huh?” she asked quietly.

I gave her hand another squeeze, and this time, she squeezed back. “Always,” I said.


End file.
